Trains, Brains and Skateboards

The thing that always surprises me about public transportation is how 'at ease' every one else seems to be. They walk through the booths, down stairs and await the transport calm and silent. I; on the other hand seem to be rushing around, dropping things, swearing under my breath and am always rooting around my bag, looking for some important item that I have some how lost or forgot to bring.

There was a man across the tracks from my waiting spot that looked like the train he was waiting for was going to take him back the year 1930. He had the hat, the long coat, clear skin and a glare about him that no one has seen for a century.

This is my second train ride. You would think that I would be a little more relaxed about public transportation by now, but I'm not. And I'm nervous that my 'friend' David will not be at the Philadelphia station to pick me up, and I'll have a nervous break down and pass out....due to the fact that I am completely incapable of surviving in a big city with out someone to hold my hand. He's not answering the phone and right now I'm hot with anger. Dammit. Settle...breathe...

I'm taking this train to Philadelphia to go look at some concrete work. I would not be doing this if local work was plentiful. But really, I don't mind traveling for work, and Philly is no big deal. Dave's mother in law has a property that needs some expert attention, so here I come. Yup, Mr. Concrete on a train. If she decides that she wants me to do the work (after a fair pricing arrangement is agreed upon), I am going to consider the option of commuting by train to do the project. Won't it be cool to get on the 5:15 with the other working commuters? They'll have their brief cases and I'll be lugging concrete tools, saws and wheel barrow through the gates and onto the train. Maybe I'll make some friends. Maybe I'll....C'MON DAVE!!! ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE! IF I GET THERE AND YOU'RE NOT THERE I'M GONNA KILL YOU.THIS TRAIN RIDE IS FUN AND ALL, BUT I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN...(insert sound of received text message)....Ok, he got my panic stricken text messages and finally returned a response that he will be there and told me to 'chillax'. I don't really like that word. “Chillax”. It's another one of these 'words' that society has formed by taking two words, misspelling them and adding them to our already struggling culture. It's stupid and I really encourage any readers to stop using such words. Thank you.

Ok, next question. Is there a shitter on this train? Am I supposed to know where it's at? Does everyone else know where it's at, and they're not telling me, because I'm the new guy? And is there is something that I'm supposed to know about the shitter, but it's privileged information? If I ask someone if there is a shitter on the train, and they say “No”, am I now looking like an idiot who's got to shit, and there's no where to go? In case any one is reading and hasn't figured it out yet....I have to crap and I'm on a train.

I'm just going to sit here and ignore my discomfort and continue typing. If (really I don't) I did care at all what people think about me on this train, the laptop computer and ability to type really well must make me look like some sort of professional; not a neurotic lunatic construction worker with social fears and a steamer in the chamber.

I guess the plan is to meet David at the train station, and go from there to his mother in law's to look at this project. He doesn't have a car today, so we are taking the subway. Subway? Are they scary? I've never been on one, and admit to having great fears of things I am unfamiliar with. Yes, I know...I'm primitive.

The train is really nice. The interior is recently refurbished. I can tell because the seats are nice and new, but there are spots in the armrests where ashtrays once were. I just tried to open up my ashtray, but it's not an ashtray anymore. It's a tease for someone who really wants to light up, and for a split second was fooled to think that society would let smokers pollute public air at any location...especially the tight confines of an Amtrak.

I like the train. This subway scares me. Aren't subways littered with graphitti? Don't they contain bullies who take your tokens and working class generics that look the other way when fights break out? Isn't that the subway? I don't like the subway. I'm a train-kind-of-dude. Ok, where's the shitter. My nerves are kicking in again.

My gosh. Business's turn their backs to the train tracks and show us commuters all their dirty habits and rust problems. Over flowing dumpsters and home-done-masonry make train commuters look ahead, as though there is something else to see. There's fences with holes and ametuer graphitti under bridges. The bridge pillars are a cheap canvas to any artists longing to bless the subway someday.

The structures outside are getting larger, and I bet it means we are getting closer to the city. Just a hunch. The farms have disappeared. The train is going slower and blowing the horn more often, and quite honestly, the graphitti is getting better.

There is an inconsistent rhythm in the rails running under us that is slowly driving me crazy. I wanted to bring head phones, and sort of forgot them. I may have forgotten them, or maybe I left them on my dashboard on purpose. I knew I would want to peck thoughts on the train ride, and any sort of music would have tainted my perspective and given these thoughts a clear unbalanced view of this awkward encounter.

The train is now going annoyingly slow and my laptop battery is almost dead....alright, where's the shitter?

(Three and a half hours later....)

Philadelphia left me with sore legs and a mild beer buzz. The subway was just like in the movies, but with no graphitti. Apparently 'muma' and 'wto3 crew' just paint the surrounding bridge pillars...oh, yes, you too 'Moose'.

Dave met me at the subway station near the train station. I had to ask a smoking Chinese man with one rotted eye ball where the nearest subway station would be, and he scolded me where it was while pointing profusely. Whatever, dude.

A loud man was loudly selling umbrellas on the corner of loud street. My shoes have a hole in them, and now I was wishing that this dude was selling dry socks, instead of shitty shit from Shitville.

I followed Dave and talked with excitement. My gallon of coffee sat in an empty stomach and worked it's magic of making me a mad man. Rhythmic gestures followed every description of recent Lancaster life.
The subway tiles amplified my rantings. People huddled in the halls and no one smiled. I talked more and Dave murmured responses that I could not understand. There is a good possibility that he was high on pot. He sent text messages to people and walked through the gates with his head down reading responses. I followed him too close and awkwardly, like a puppy who is having a hard time with the master's proximity and as if the leash between them was to pull them closer together; not to keep one from running away from the other.

We rode four different subway trains, and when we arrived at the house to look at the concrete work, I swear that we were only three blocks from the train station.

It rained like crazy while we discussed the project's possibilities. I was able to use words such as 'bullshit' while describing problem areas of Dave's Mom-in-Law's porch. I used such slang because she made me feel comfortable. My tongue gets loose and my defenses drop when I am in my comfort zone...look out.

The rain didn't seem to bother Dave's M.I.L., and she chatted relentlessly. We were soaked to the bone and my skateboard was getting wet. Finally our ride 'Don' showed up. We were now free to go and jumped in his car. From here, the three of us would go across the city to ride skateboard at the Philly warehouse: a secret society's hideout that contains a mecca of transitional terrain for stunt wood.

Don drove his car across town like he was trying to win some sort of race. I said prayers in the back seat and missed my Amtrak train for travels. Dave spoke clear and freely, now that his morning bong hits had worn off. He didn't tell me, I just knew.

The warehouse was empty, and the three of us had a pretty good session. I was getting hungry and was thirsty for beer. Dave had promised to buy lunch, but I was sure that his stoner logic made him forget about it. Oops...'space'. -That's what stoners call forgetting. They don't 'forget' things, they 'space'.

Example:
“Yeah I was totally going to go to work yesterday, and then I just spaced.”

I was sure that Dave had 'spaced' about promising me lunch. THEN all of the sudden, there was cold beer and pizza on the deck of the ramp. Pabst pounders and some hot pie from “The best place in town” is what Don said.

Needless to say, I was stoked, and forgave Dave for lying to me about lunch.

The skateboards and beer and pizza and bros combo had me spacing on the fact that I live in Millersville...and I had a train to catch. If Dave would have bought more beer, I would no doubt still be in Philadelphia and smashing my walls of matrimony. But, when the beer was gone, Don Earnhardt muscled his way through town to get me to the station fifteen minutes early. You son of a bitch!

Ahh...now I am Lancaster bound on my trusty Amtrak and would like to let you know that the Downingtown Moose lodge has bingo AND karaoke this Friday at 6:30. It's right across the street from their train station. I just saw the advertisement pass as we pulled away.

Whew...I am suddenly sleepy. I'm going to try and snooze for bit. 'Hope I don't end up in Pittsburgh.